Secondhand Nostalgia: Why Gen Z Romanticizes a Borrowed Past
By Stella Violet
The past has never been more popular. From the resurgence of vinyl records and vintage fashion to the popularity of old TV shows like Twin Peaks and old music like the Smashing Pumpkins.
It’s like we are falling in love with a time we’ve never experienced. But why are we so drawn to eras we only know through secondhand stories, filtered Instagram aesthetics, and curated playlists?
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Media has always shaped our understanding of the past, but for Gen Z, it has done so in a way that feels uniquely immersive. From countless reboots of classic TV shows from our childhoods or biopics of people who aren’t even dead, we are forcing ourselves to relive a time we weren’t alive to experience.
Similarly, social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram serve as modern day time machines. There have been several trends reminiscing on even more recent trends or times in history like being a teenager living in Los Angeles in 2014.
We are pushing ourselves to become a curated version of the past that’s more aspirational rather than historical. By editing out the messy, unglamorous parts of these decades, we’re able to perpetuate a sense of longing for a past that never truly existed.
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Gen Z also tends to “gatekeep” and when it comes to things from the past it can become difficult to take so-called “gatekeepers” seriously. Listening to older music, movies, or TV shows doesn’t make you unique and shaming others for listening to modern media is honestly absurd.
I remember seeing someone post about how they’ve listened to Nirvana before they went viral on TikTok. Keep in mind, Nirvana tragically disbanded in 1994, three years before the first Gen Z human was born.
Nostalgia is inherently emotional. According to psychologists, it’s not just about longing for the past but about finding comfort and stability in memories or imagined scenarios. For Gen Z, a generation grappling with climate anxiety, economic instability, and the pressure of hyperconnectivity, the curated simplicity of past decades offers a sense of escapism.
Borrowed nostalgia allows us to imagine a world that feels safer and more manageable. The 80s and 90s, for instance, are often portrayed as times of vibrant individuality and carefree living – a stark contrast to today’s constant digital noise and societal unrest.
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Of course, borrowed nostalgia comes with its downsides. By focusing solely on the appealing or aesthetic aspects of past decades, we risk oversimplifying history. For example, the 80s were not just a time of mixtapes and neon; they also included significant social and political changes.
Similarly, the Y2K era wasn’t all glitter tops and quirky rom-coms; it was also marked by the early stages of technological developments and global instability.
This selective lens can make it easy to romanticize the past while ignoring its flaws. However, it also highlights a deep human desire to hold onto the good and leave the bad behind. In this sense, borrowed nostalgia becomes a coping mechanism – a way to reframe the past as a source of inspiration rather than a burden.
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As Gen Z continues to shape culture, borrowed nostalgia is unlikely to fade. Instead, it may evolve as new technologies emerge.
But as we borrow from the past to create meaning in the present, it’s worth asking: How can we honor the realities of these eras while still appreciating their aesthetic and emotional appeal?
Perhaps the answer lies in balance – acknowledging the complexities of history while allowing ourselves creative freedom to reimagine it.
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As I write this, I’m surrounded by remnants of a time I never lived through. My record player I found at Goodwill sits on my bedside table, my vanity is my grandpa’s from the 1940s, and my makeshift bookshelf holds copies of Sylvia Plath and Jane Auesten.
These items are not just accessories; they’re pieces of a story I’ve chosen to tell myself about who I am and what I value.
That’s the true beauty of borrowed nostalgia: It allows us to blend the old with the new, creating a narrative that feels uniquely our own.
In a world that often feels overwhelming, there’s something comforting about borrowing from the past to anchor ourselves in the present. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
